


I Think I Know You

by spun809



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drinking, F/M, Fluff, Mark of Cain, Painting, angry outburst, flangst, new tag, which is fluffy angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 19:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11364081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spun809/pseuds/spun809
Summary: You see Dean from afar and he becomes the subjects of your paintings then you happen to run into him years later, he reacts differently than you expected.





	I Think I Know You

You were having the worst morning, you had spilled your coffee down the front of your new cream cardigan, that’s why you never bought anything white you thought bitterly, as you took a napkin off the counter and started dabbing your sweater. You hadn’t even walked away from the register before you had turned and bumped into someone causing the hot liquid to slosh all over you. You hurriedly apologized but you were rushing so much you barely looked up. As you cleaned yourself the best you could before giving up you went to head out of the tiny place.

A hand stopped you just as you started to push open the glass door.

“Hey,” you dimly recognized the voice as coming from the man you had bumped into, so you turned around to face him, “you forgot this,” and you saw that he had your purse strap clenched in his hand.

“Oh my gosh, thank you,” you took a second to actually look at the guy, and you were shocked to see that he was stunning, there was a certain brightness to his green eyes, and light freckles were sprinkled across the bridge of his nose.

“No problem,” he said as he handed to you and turned back inside to sit a table with another guy who was equally as handsome, but in a different way, with his much longer and darker brown hair and his insane height that was evident even with him sitting down.

Suddenly, you felt all the stress leaving your body. You decided you should take the morning and enjoy your coffee, your ruined shirt had to be worth something right?

You turned around and walked back into the dimly lit coffee joint, the rich aroma of bitter earthy coffee assaulting your senses and you picked a table by the windows that opened out onto the street and had the added bonus of having a clear view of the helpful stranger.

You couldn't help but startle when after about an hour the two men got up to throw their cups into the trash. You looked down at the pages that were now scattered around the table you had nested down at, various bits of the shorter blond-haired man’s face were highlighted in black lead drawings, a few had the added scribblings of colored markers, all of them, you thought privately, did little to capture the aura you felt was hanging around him .By the time you managed to gather the sheets of paper together and look back up the men were gone.

Four long years had gone by since that day in the coffee shop, you had gotten an art degree after high school but now your paintings were mostly a hobby while your real job was teaching elementary school children art. You loved watching their faces grow bright as their little fingers dug into the watery paints and then the joy kept growing as they smeared it onto the pages. You had never realized a job could be so rewarding but also exhausting.

You were covered in splashes of paint from the long day you had spent teaching classes of children about using watercolors. The washes of color weren’t that noticeable but you knew that they only added to the general sense of disheveledness about you.

Deciding spur of the moment as you walked home that you needed some grown up time, you ducked into a little bar that was on your way back to your loft style apartment, it was becoming a more trendy neighborhood and the place that you had stepped into was nicely furnished and well lit. It seemed more like a restaurant than a bar.

Walking up to the large walnut paneled bar, you quickly asked for the simplest drink you could think of on such short notice, “I’ll have a vodka tonic,” you said confidently.

Taking a sip as it was set back in front of you, however, you regretted the quick choice and grimaced at the taste.

“What,” a deep voice said from a few stools down on your right, “didn’t get what you ordered?” He asked.

Your eyes went wide as you turned your head, and you couldn’t control the way your heart was racing, “umm...I...it’s,” you stuttered as you watched the stranger come and move a few stools closer to you now that you were supposed to be having a conversation, but you were tongue-tied.

You knew the stranger next to you, well not really knew him, but you had about fifty paintings of his face stacked around your little apartment because you had bumped into him randomly years ago, only now here he was holding his hand out to you and introducing himself.

“Sorry,” you said as you tried to focus on the fact that he was speaking, “Sorry what was that?”

“My name,” he smiled at you and your stomach flipped into your chest, he was still beautiful, but up this close, you could also see how much sadder he looked, “I’m Dean.”

As your fingers wound around his, your heart skipped a beat, there was something about this stranger that had you feeling compelled to get to know him better. A dark and mysterious energy hung around him and made you feel completely captivated with trying to figure him out, the only way you knew how, and that was painting him and trying to parse out just what about him was so unique.

Your eyes couldn’t help but roam over his frame and they paused briefly at the folded edge of his shirt sleeve it was rolled up part way over his forearm and you could make out the edge of a large and strangely shaped scar that was welted and lifted from the skin, it was stretched red and angry looking.

You forced yourself to focus again on listening and sipping away at your disgusting drink, listening to Dean as he talked to you about the weather and other simple similarities in your lives.

Giggling, feeling lightheaded and tipsy both from the amount of drinks and being in such close proximity to Dean, you led the way up to your little apartment. It wasn’t actually tiny or anything, the problem was as you turned the key and shoved open the door, in between random whispers to your male companion, that there were so many art supplies they seemed to make the large open area seemed cramped and cluttered.

“Here,” you said sweeping some cups of water and paints to the side of the coffee table, and shifting some books off the cushions of your couch, “have a seat.”

“I’m good,” Dean called from somewhere behind you.

Standing up you tried to scan the room quickly and figure out what he was doing and your stomach lurched painfully as you noticed he was flipping through the various stacks of painted canvas leaned against your wall.

You rushed over and stilled his hand with your own, “please don’t.” You said feeling worried about him seeing the paintings.

“Why,” he chuckled, “are they nude paintings or something?”

“Or something,” you responded with a quick roll of your eyes.

He listened for the moment, you could see him going through your space as though he was a detective and every various object was a piece in the puzzle that created your life. You felt suddenly very vulnerable like you were showing a stranger your most intimate journal entries even though all he was really doing was opening the door to your fridge and looking at the little pictures you had pinned to one of your walls.

“Is this you?” He called out and you sighed as you came over to where he was standing.

“Yep,” you said noticing with a feeling of horror the picture he was looking at, “that was my freshman year in high school.”

“You were cute,” he said but his tone was more playful than seductive.

“So why are you back in town Dean,” you said and his head spun to face you, you quickly realized your mistake and respoke, “I mean, why are you here in town?”

He quirked an eyebrow at you and answered vaguely with, “taking a break from work.”

“Oh,” you said lamely.

“So you're an artist, are you the starving kind, I mean with this kind of place it seems like you do alright.” He said changing the subject back to you.

“Yeah I mean it is mostly a hobby now, I teach art to kids at the local elementary school, I really love it.” You were trying to build up your courage and brooch the subject that you had seen Dean before, you grabbed a picture that you had sketched from that day but it was a close up you thought he might have a hard time placing.

You waved the paper at Dean to get his full attention, “this is one of my drawings,” you said feeling nervous as he took it from you.

You could see the wheels clicking into place quickly, apparently even a slightly drunk Dean was quick on the uptake.

“Do I know you?” He asked you noticed his voice suddenly seemed a little lower in pitch.

“Not technically,” you said, “I just bumped into you a long time ago and thought your face was one that needed to be painted.”

He started to walk quickly back over to the stack of paintings leaning against the wall, he flipped through them so fervently you were slightly worried something was going to get damaged, he seemed frantic and there was some sort of energy surrounding him that was starting to frighten you.

Spinning around he looked at you, his eyes narrowed in anger before yelling, “I’m not gonna let you stand there and remind me of everything I hate about myself!”

“I’m not trying to remind you of anything Dean, I hardly know you, I just saw a random person and felt like I needed to sketch you, I’m sorry I upset you,” you knew he was a stranger that you should ignore but his sudden angry outburst had your tears starting to choke you up.

You tipped your head to your chest and sniffled slightly. The last image clearly in your head was Dean chest heaving with the force of his breath and his fists clenched at his side as he scowled at you. You couldn’t believe he was acting like this, even though you had been nervous to show him, you had secretly hoped he would have been flattered by the attention.

“Hey,” a deep voice with a much softer tone said from above you, you tipped your head back up to look at Dean, “I’m sorry, I overreacted, I am having a tough time at...work…this just caught me off guard is all.”

“It’s ok,” you said, but you sniff at the end of your sentence gave you away.

“No, it’s not, I’m really sorry, please will you show me what you did.”

You only nodded not fully trusting yourself not to start crying again, you hated confrontation, and walked over to another stack of painting you had sitting on a table, they were smaller but of his whole face giving more of an impression that Dean was the subject. You pulled one specific painting from under the top one on the stack and set it out in front of the two of you. It was Dean, there was a halo of light coming from behind his head, making his features appear almost slightly translucent, the colors behind him were dark reds and rich browns that accentuated the red color of the collar of the plaid shirt he was painted in.

“This is great Y/N,” he said simply as he took a hold of your hand just keeping it lightly captured in his.

“I’m glad you like it,” you replied as you leaned your head against his shoulder. No longer worried that he might get angry again. You knew he had just been surprised.

“Yeah,” he said absently.

The two of you stood together, just looking at the drawing for a long time, how long exactly, you really weren’t sure.


End file.
